


the razor's edge

by Aanya_Inure



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Bad Luck, Minor Character Death, Other, and Ko still doesn't like himself, good luck, implicated violence, its just a random OC, sorta graphic, trigger warnings just cause it's kinda pretty sad i guess??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 21:55:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4682792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aanya_Inure/pseuds/Aanya_Inure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s MY FAULT!”</p><p>Shocked still, the woman fell under the sheen stare of large gray eyes. Like whirlpools in the sea or a storm in the sky; they were beautiful, and so…</p><p>hopeless.</p><p>The boy sniffles, bottom lip trembling midst the autumn air. “My luck. It’s my cycle of luck. Everyone around me gets hurt and I,” he chokes, silver sliding off his lashes. “I can’t stop it. I can’t escape it!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	the razor's edge

**Author's Note:**

> Just a depressing head canon I have. Because apparently I like hurting my own heart. Also posted on my Tumblr constellation_crisis.

_I’m scared cause the past-_

_keeps pulling me back,_

_distorting the future._

_It’s holding me close,_

_it loves me the most,_

_it’s tearing the sutures._

_It won’t let me heal, it tells us what’s real,_

_there is no truth there._

_I’m scared cause the past-_

_keeps pulling me._

**Digital Daggers- The Razor’s Edge**

~

A child’s steps patter down the sidewalk.

“Nagito!”

They quicken. Sickly pallor cheeks bleed pink from a chill wind’s bite. The boy burrows his face deep into the scarf that swallows him.

“Nagito! Stop this instant!”

Shrill and desperate, he cries out. “No!”

The chase ends with a hard halt, the eleven year old boy trapped by the clutch on his wrist.

“Nagito! We are going back to the orphanage right now!”

Thin fingers pry at the grip fruitlessly; “No! I can’t! I’ll just hurt everyone!”

The social worker shakes her head, mousy brown hair freeing from a neat bun. “This is ridiculous! How could that chandelier falling on that boy’s head _possibly_ be your fault! The doctors said with some physical therapy, there’s a good chance he’ll be able to walk again. Now, we are going back and-”

“It’s MY FAULT!”

Shocked still, the woman fell under the sheen stare of large gray eyes. Like whirlpools in the sea or a storm in the sky; they were beautiful, and so…

hopeless.

The boy sniffles, bottom lip trembling midst the autumn air. “My luck. It’s my cycle of luck. Everyone around me gets hurt and I,” he chokes, silver sliding off his lashes. “I can’t stop it. I can’t escape it!”

“Nagito, that’s ridiculous! Why wou-”

“I’m just in the way! I’m just…trash! Worse, because I hurt people!”

“Wha-

“Let me _go_!”

The thin and delicate bone wrenches free, and he runs.

“Nagi-!”

It’s the screech of tires, the blare of horns, and the startled screams; it’s all he has in warning before the child turns in fear to the oncoming of metal.

His rib cage coils his heart in panic; eyelids closing like the final curtain.

A drunk driver. Just his luck.

But the instant passes; a wild squeal of angry rubber and the clatter of chaos clash with the chorus of drums in his ear.

All is silent.

Until a scream of grief personified shatters the barrier.

Gray eyes open, gray eyes wide; and his vision blurs in the horror of reality, in the face of the true terror to his accursed luck.

The vehicle had swerved, missed him by miracle inches-

and ran straight for the nearby lawn; right to a little girl.

A little girl who had, but moments ago, been smiling with toothy gaps and playing her dolls.

A little girl with blonde curls, who now lay broken and bleeding in the arms of a mourning mother.

All he could see was the crimson and the crooked bones, sirens not reaching his echoing ears, for all he knew was;

_my fault…_

_all my fault…_

_I killed her._

_I…killed…_

Wide eyes turn to his social worker, and bile coats his tongue at the look of absolute fear hardening her once soft features.

Fear of him.

Fear of what he brings, of the chaos he carries on his shoulders.

The boy sucks in a stuttering breath, wipes his eyes with the end of his scarf, and with one last glance to the ambulance sirens and the scenery of a family lost, he turns and runs.

No one calls him back.

No one chases after.


End file.
